


Only Five

by Kingmaking



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Casterly Rock, Gen, House Lannister, Infidelity, Motherhood, Pre Canon, pragmatic Catelyn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-22 05:53:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17657159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kingmaking/pseuds/Kingmaking
Summary: Half of King’s Landing burns down; half the Lannister army is lost to horrible wildfire, the green wrath...But Jaime isn’t among them. In hindsight, maybe he should have been./In which Catelyn Tully becomes a lioness instead.





	Only Five

**Author's Note:**

> A translation of this work into Russian by [DaenaRu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaenaRu/pseuds/DaenaRu) is available here ([x](https://ficbook.net/readfic/7892962))

Catelyn thought her father prudent, gentle and mild-mannered, uninterested in the game of thrones. But Lord Hoster moves with the speed of sound, when it comes to securing matches for his daughters, and Catelyn is betrothed to Jaime Lannister, the golden son of the West. He’s ten, born two years after her, and is recalled from Crakehall to foster instead at the Golden Tooth, close enough to Riverrun to allow for a short visit every year.

The first year, he comes with Addam Marbrand and Lothar Frey. The first is Jaime’s dearest friend, with auburn hair a shade brighter than Catelyn’s. The second is a twelfth son with a bad leg, a worse temper, and unabashed interest in Lysa, whose troth hasn’t been pledged yet. But a _Frey_ , really? Nonsense.

Catelyn dances with Jaime, dances with Addam, and makes fun of Lothar with her sister and Petyr, who’s been sullen for days, only brightening after the nickname _Lothar the Lame_ catches on.

The second year… Mother dies, between the first and second visit; Father mourns her, mourns in a way that welcomes no comfort. Lysa and Ed look to Catelyn for warmth and love, and Catelyn to Uncle Brynden. Thus, when Jaime returns, it’s to find Cat as the Lady of Riverrun, if only in name. They do not dance, but they hawk and hunt, and spend a fortnight visiting with Bracken and Blackwood. It’s under Lord Blackwood’s roof that Catelyn first hears talk of Brandon Stark, the prized heir to Winterfell.

There’s no visit, when Catelyn is fifteen and Jaime thirteen, because his twin sister is sick, back home, and he made it no further than Pinkmaiden before persuading his escort to bring him to Casterly Rock instead. Catelyn doesn’t mind; she would do much and more for Lysa, herself, but Lysa was recently betrothed to Brandon Stark, and now resides in White Harbor, serving as Lady Manderly’s cupbearer.

There’s something else; Catelyn is convinced there’s something else, some other reason her lord Father had to send Lysa north and Petyr back to his father’s little keep, but they’re both so _young_ , and she doesn’t have time enough to worry about children’s games, herself, not with time flying by, her moonblood flowing, and Jaime Lannister growing into this handsome young man, who rides through Riverrun’s gates to wed her, when he’s fifteen and newly knighted.

*

Catelyn loves him, blushing until Edmure and Uncle Brynden tease her. The Blackfish eyes her betrothed wearily, but Edmure has pleaded for the right to be his squire, begged for tales of Jaime’s adventures, as if a boy -- a knight, mind it -- of fifteen could have any such tales worth sharing. But Catelyn loves him. He’s courteous, arrogant, handsome if a bit cold, but she could stomach anything, for Casterly Rock and golden-haired children, for her family to rise into the world.

Circumstances bid them wait. Edmure shatters his arm, falling in the godswood; Lysa, home from White Harbor, sickens in Maidenpool and stays with Lord and Lady Whent in Harrenhal, in time for the great tourney. Catelyn was meant to attend it as Jaime’s wife, Catelyn was meant to attend it _pregnant_ , but instead she goes alone, without her betrothed, because Tywin Lannister has forbidden his son from attending. Thus Jaime stays in Riverrun with Father and Uncle Brynden, talking about wars past; Catelyn rides for Harrenhal, reunites with Lysa and, without knowing, witnesses the prelude to wars future, roaring wolves and pale suns, soft blue roses in Lady Lyanna’s hand.

Lysa is jealous of Lyanna, Catelyn knows, of Brandon’s love and the Prince’s favors, but she goes pale and begins to weep, when they hear of her disappearance. Brandon rides south to recover his sister, rides south to confront Rhaegar Targaryen, and beseeches Jaime come with him. The youngest knight in the realm, the son and heir of Tywin Lannister, surely Mad Aerys would listen to _him_. But Jaime obeys his father, the way Catelyn has always obeyed hers, and he stays with her in Riverrun.

He’s there, when they hear of Brandon’s imprisonment; he’s there, when Rickard Stark passes through Riverrun, to go rescue his son; he’s there, when they hear both men were killed, he’s there when Lysa collapses, tearing at her red hair, he’s there when the Seven Kingdoms catch on fire. Father has called the banners, because Ned Stark has promised to marry Lysa, to make it right.

Make it right. His father burned and his brother choked to death, and Ned Stark is but a boy, barely older than Catelyn herself, presuming to keep the belligerent North in check, presuming to make Lysa happy and overthrow a tyrant. He’s got help, of course. Arryn, Tully… Lannister, soon enough. Jaime is eager to ride into battle, and Catelyn is eager to be wedded and bedded, to become a wife and mother. Both wishes are granted; Jaime goes to shed blood on the River Trident, and Catelyn’s own blood never comes, after her wedding night.

Tywin Lannister summons Catelyn to Casterly Rock, after the Prince is killed, and while Cat is aware that House Lannister’s future lord should come into the world in House Lannister’s big golden castle, she cannot bring herself to leave poor Lysa behind, not after she lost the babe Ned Stark had left in her belly. Catelyn stays, to bring Lysa comfort; Catelyn stays, and it makes Lysa cry and sob, whenever they feel the babe kick.

Catelyn gives birth to her son in Riverrun and names him Robb, for the king her father and goodfather mean to crown. Robb Lannister, with Tully hair and Tully eyes. She cradles her little boy, nurses him at her own breast, and ignores the outside world, ignores Lysa’s tears and Jaime’s absence.

Half of King’s Landing burns down; half the Lannister army is lost to horrible wildfire, the green wrath, but Jaime isn’t among them. In hindsight, maybe he should have been.

*

She misses the crowning and wedding of King Robert, journeying for Casterly Rock with Robb and Uncle Brynden just as Tywin Lannister, his daughter and kin travel for King’s Landing -- what’s left of King’s Landing, anyway. The Great Sept of Baelor survived the fires, but Flea Bottom is gone, along with manses and terraces and gardens and houses. And the old King, the Dornish princess and her children… The city burned, the army burned, but the little Targaryens were killed by steel, not flame.

Catelyn is glad she doesn’t have to be there; Catelyn is glad she doesn’t have to _know_ , content to settle into her rooms in Casterly Rock, stones of cold and gold. They give her rooms with a balcony, a garden, a tiny sept, and seven windows facing the sea. The Rock is huge, the Rock is terrifying, but Catelyn is the mother of a future lord, and she doesn’t fear.

Tywin Lannister eyes Robb with something that _might_ be approval, or something else, and finally names him _A fine boy_. A fine boy with no father; Jaime stays with his sister in King’s Landing for a whole year, then half of another, content to know his wife and heir are safely locked up in the Rock, under his father’s care. Catelyn writes him letters, but answers seldom ever come. Her husband -- her husband of two years, and more, even though she’s only shared her bed with him once. Once was enough, to make Robb and secure her future.

Catelyn knows love is a luxury, that arranged matches are rarely warm and loving, at least not in the beginning. She’d never expected Jaime to love her, hadn’t even _wanted_ it. Lord Hoster had loved his Lady Minisa, and her death had undone him.

It’s alright; it’s easy, to pretend she never expected anything more. It’s normal for Jaime to keep his sister company, it’s normal for a young man to seek out the busy -- and half-burned -- King’s Landing. The Rock is just as busy, in truth, enough to make Catelyn’s head spin, as they give her gemstones that belonged to Lady Joanna, a necklace from Lady Jeyne, yellowed Myrish lace from Lady Rohanne. She doesn’t need Jaime.

She doesn’t need to feel loved, or wanted, or desired.

She has Tully pride, of course, and never dares go to her goodfather with the matter. Let Jaime be a stranger to his own son; let Jaime ignore his father and his wife, or the younger brother who seems to grow miserable, without him. Catelyn has little time for Tyrion, busy with Robb and her new kin and her Western ladies, but the lad is of Edmure’s age, and she cannot help but pity him. She’s kind to him, as kind as she can be while resenting the brother he adores, and Tyrion is kind to Robb in turn, reading to him until his candles burn out, and Robb is near-passed out in his lap.

The Queen announces her pregnancy, and Tywin orders his son back home.

Catelyn is wearing the bright red of Lannister and Tully, when she finally sees Jaime, when she finally introduces little Robb to his father, when she finally allows herself to breathe, because she is no longer the shunned wife of the heir to Casterly Rock. Jaime takes his seat at her side, during the feast, and it’s almost like the feast they had in Riverrun, back when Catelyn thought her future was bright, even with the war. They don’t speak much, and Catelyn assumes Jaime must long for his twin the way she herself misses Lysa and Edmure. But Jaime appears glad enough to be reunited with Tyrion; it’s Tyrion, after the feast, who coaxes Robb into giving his father more than a passing glance.

If the boy wasn’t only twelve, Catelyn would suspect he’s also the one who convinces Jaime to come to her bed, a fortnight after his return. They’re strangers to one another, now that so many years have passed since the wedding night, but Catelyn doesn’t mind. She was born and bred to not mind, indeed, asking only for respect where others -- Lysa -- would ask for warmth and love.

Love isn’t a promise of healthy babes, as Lysa may now know.

Jaime does his duty by her, and she does her duty by him, in the moonlight pouring through her seven windows. It’s… better than it was on her wedding night, but she’d almost forgotten the feeling. Maybe it’s because there’s peace, in the world if not in her bed; after he’s done, Jaime promptly takes his leave, without a word.

She doesn’t need to feel _loved_.

Catelyn knows he must have been with other women, back in King’s Landing, back during the war, but it doesn’t matter. It can be ignored, it _must_ be ignored, if she’s to stay on Tywin Lannister’s good side. It’s distant, away from the Rock, away from Robb. It doesn’t matter.

She doesn’t have to suffer a lover or bastard, the way Lysa has to suffer Jon Snow. She blames the boy for her difficult labors and dead children, but Ned Stark refuses to send him away.

*

Cersei gives birth to a son, golden-haired Joffrey; Jaime rides for the capital with his father and two scores of Western nobles to celebrate the birth, but he leaves Catelyn with a babe of her own, at least.

She’s not in charge of the Rock, not with Lord Tywin’s brothers and formidable sister around. Catelyn allows herself to relax, bathing and stitching, walking through Casterly Rock’s gardens with Tyrion and Robb, writing letters for Lysa and Father, back in Riverrun, for Edmure and Uncle Brynden, who left the Rock and went directly to Winterfell, with no stop home.

The birth of her Cerella is eclipsed by Tyrion’s wedding.

Tywin and Jaime refuse to speak of the incident, and Catelyn refuses to hear about it. It drives Tyrion away from her, but she has two children to look after, now, children who might be twins, if not for the nigh-four years between them. Cerella has the look of House Tully, as surely as Robb does, but her hair has a subtle golden shadow running through it, although copper wins effortlessly. And Catelyn sees Jaime in the lines of her face, or the achingly beautiful queen.

She’d hoped they might bond over Robb and Ceri. They do, if only slightly. But Jaime doesn’t shame her, Jaime doesn’t force her, and he loves the children she’s given him; it’s enough. It has to be enough.

Jaime never knew Robb, when he was a baby. Maybe it’s why he seems to favor Cerella, but she rapidly becomes the realm of Catelyn and septas. A lady, delicate in pale Tully blue and soft pink, more kitten than lion. Catelyn’s goodfather has plans for her, the way he’s already planning for Robb’s future. Catelyn herself dreams of some rich Western bride for Robb, or maybe a Piper or Mooton. Similarly, she dreams of Crakehall, Oldtown, Highgarden or the Golden Tooth for Cerella, who grows taller and more beautiful every day.

The only thing Jaime ever seems to be planning is his next trip in King’s Landing, but Lord Tywin doesn’t let his son leave the Rock until Catelyn has a third child in her belly. It occurs to her that she’s only kissed her husband once.

It has to be enough, it has to.

She labors to bring Marla into the world, ten hours of screaming and hearing Genna Lannister order people around, until something else happens. In the port below, the Lannister fleet is burning.

Catelyn has sat out a war before, and has no trouble biding her time in Casterly Rock, cradling Marla while Jaime, King Robert and his sour brother crush the Ironborn. Like he did after Cerella was born, Lord Tywin orders Cat to give Marla over to a wet nurse, which she does. The girl is from Lannisport, with a pretty face and golden hair. Catelyn learns her name, but not much else.

She has no reason to _care_ about the girl, truly, until they host a tourney to celebrate the end of the Greyjoy war, and King Robert dishonors her in Catelyn’s own bed, while Marla screams for milk. Catelyn is disgusted and Lord Tywin has the girl banished, but Jaime… Jaime is enraged, and for a while Catelyn is able to convince herself that it’s for _her_ , that he cannot stomach how King Robert has disrespected her.

It’s not.

*

Loreon’s birth is difficult, coming this soon after Marla’s, but Catelyn pushes through. She awakes to find Jaime home, returned from his second visit to King’s Landing since the end of the war; she awakes to hear that Queen Cersei is pregnant once more, and cannot help but feel a pang of… jealousy? The Queen has two children, Joffrey and Myrcella, each Lannister through and through, while Cat’s own… Robb is seven, the finest lad in the West, soon to foster with House Marbrand, one day to squire for Ser Addam. Cerella is lovely, and Marla is clever, for a toddler. Loreon is a lively babe, but he and Robb and Ceri have the auburn hair of House Tully, the blue eyes. Only Marla resembles her father, golden hair and emerald-green eyes.

 _The spitting image of Princess Myrcella_ , Tyrion says.

 _Barely that_ , Jaime says.

Genna Lannister took care of finding a wet nurse for Loreon, a woman of good repute. This one is the wife of a household knight, and has already nursed the lusty babes of House Crakehall. It’s only after her arrival that Catelyn hears of the fate of the… the _whore_ , the one who’d nursed Marla. They say the girl was found dead in a Lannisport brothel, strangled to death with her twins, black-haired like King Robert.

*

Catelyn doesn’t have a favorite among her children, of _course_ she doesn’t; Genna, Tywin, Jaime and Tyrion do, each a different one. Tywin makes Robb his cupbearer, and Genna takes over Ceri’s upbringing, towering above the girl in her gowns of Lannister red and gold. Tyrion is never without a story for the children, but it’s Loreon he favors, showing the boy a new secret in the Rock every week, buying him wooden toys shaped like dragons and lions, wolves and horses.

Jaime favors Marla. Marla, with her tantrums and her bad temper, Marla who makes Catelyn positively miserable, Marla who causes nurse after nurse, septa after septa to resign, Marla who is so unlike Cerella, Ceri with the sweet temperament. Jaime is hardly ever at the Rock, visiting Ashermark and the Golden Tooth, Fair Isle and Feastfires, even Oldtown and Tarth, if he’s not in King’s Landing, but Marla screams _Papa Papa Papa_ , struggles to escape from even Catelyn’s arms. But Jaime is always on the move; Catelyn doesn’t know where he is headed, but she knows that it’s away from her, away from his domineering father.

Is she domineering? Is she wrong, somehow, is she a bad wife to him?

No. She’s given him four children, and she’s only twenty-six. They can have more, she _does_ want more, more golden-haired babes to rival the Queen’s. But Jaime stays away, only returning to escort Robb to Ashermark. Catelyn doesn’t allow herself to weep, not in front of Tywin Lannister, instead wrestling Cerella from Genna’s claws, putting her foot down with Marla, teaching Lore how to _not_ stand on furniture, and to stop exploring disaffected storerooms. The Rock is a city within a castle, covering leagues and leagues, but it cannot become a little boy’s playground.

Did Jaime play in these rooms, when he was a boy of Lore’s age?

Catelyn wishes she could ask him; she wishes he’d answer.

*

Catelyn sees Robb twice every year, after he leaves for Ashermark, growing into a knight in the making. He’s very much like Jaime at his age, if only with auburn hair and blue eyes. Jaime as he was on the day Catelyn first met him, dreaming of knighthood and glory. He’s courteous and brave, more at ease with Ser Addam or his kin than with his own father, or his larger-than-life grandfather.

Knighthood and glory for Robb, then, with a lordship in due time; Cerella dreams of queenship, of marrying Prince Joffrey, the cousin she’s never met. And Marla, Lore… They dream of adventures, exploring the Rock and pretending to be pirates, or children of the forest, or Lann the Clever, until Lord Tywin and Genna sit down with them, threatening Marla with a childhood in the Faith, and Lore with fosterage in King’s Landing, away from everyone he knows.

After, Marla dreams of Oldtown, and Lore of becoming a knight of the Kingsguard.

Her children play in the Sunset Sea, and it’s during one such outing that Jaime returns from King’s Landing, with lemons and silk for Cerella, old tomes for Tyrion, candy for Marla, a fine Northern pony for Loreon. Marla screams for a horse of her own, and trades the candy with some page for a wooden practice sword.

For Catelyn, Jaime has a fifth child, and… He’s different, somewhat. Warmer, more interested in the children, more attentive to her desires. From Tyrion, Cat learns that her husband argued with the Queen, on some matter or another. She learns that Joffrey Baratheon, at only nine, is a wicked little boy, a Mad Aerys in the making, unworthy of Ceri’s hand. She doesn’t bring that up with Jaime, though, let alone with Tywin or her daughter, instead focusing on her new pregnancy.

It’s not easy, mostly because her goodfather organizes a great tourney for Robb’s twelfth birthday, drawing a crowd of bannermen, Tyrells and Tullys, daughters of Crakehall and Serrett, Brax and Westerling, each hoping to catch Robb’s eye, catch a Lannister husband. Worse yet, the Queen comes with her children. Catelyn hasn’t seen her goodsister in forever, and this new meeting has an heavy, unpleasant feeling to it. Marla and Loreon play with Tommen and Myrcella, Cerella daydreams over Joffrey, and Catelyn is caught between her husband and his twin, between her role as the future Lady Lannister and whatever argument Jaime had with the Queen, back in the city. Something about Ceri’s dreams of queenship, maybe? Something about Myrcella, about sending young Tommen to foster at the Rock?

She doesn’t know. She doesn’t even _want_ to know. Jaime never truly opened up to her, and she never truly opened up to him, and it’s alright. He’s no longer the young man who took her hand in Riverrun, and she’s no longer the bright-eyed lady who first traveled to Casterly Rock, his child at her breast. As long as he’s there for her children, it has to be enough.

Lysa comes from Winterfell, without Ned Stark but with her little son, Robett with the pale skin, pale eyes, paling health. Her sister never goes anywhere without her son, and it makes Catelyn feel pity, and fear. She’d been lucky, with Robb and Ceri and Marla and Lore, but what about this new child? She’s heavy, cranky, constantly tired; she doesn’t have time enough to run after her youngest two, instead standing by as Tyrion indulges them, making Jaime smile and Tywin Lannister narrow his cold, golden eyes.

Better she catches them misbehaving than Genna or Tywin, however, which is why Catelyn goes in search of Lore, on the seventh day of Robb’s tourney. It’s almost over, with only King Robert left in attendance, drunk and bellowing. Catelyn hasn’t forgiven the man for the wet nurse incident, and might even pity the Queen, if Cersei took more interest in Cat’s sons and daughters, was kinder to poor Tyrion.

Loreon is ahead, laughing as he disobeys them, running from storeroom to storeroom, moving faster than Catelyn is able to, opening every cupboard, making dust rise, giggling happily.

Until he doesn’t, frozen on a threshold, deep in the belly of Casterly Rock. One little hand on the handle, the other covering his mouth, and Catelyn is about to shout _Loreon Lannister!_ when she catches up to him, hears and sees.

*

She heard and saw, heard and _saw_ , but was not seen in turn. She has to repeat herself that, as she rushes back to her chambers, almost dragging Lore by the ear. The boy is trembling like a leaf, pale in the face, and Catelyn makes him sit on her bed, makes an effort to kneel, to be at his level, and says: _You’ve had a nightmare_. They’re both having a nightmare, they must be. The sun is barely setting in the sky, but Catelyn sees her youngest to bed, before shutting herself away in her private sept, fingers trembling, stomach uneasy, bile in her throat like fire. Like the fire that burned King’s Landing, the fire that made Robert king, the wildfire of Lannister eyes, Cersei and Jaime and Marla, Tywin and Genna.

Cersei and Jaime. Cersei and Jaime, together in the old storerooms. For how long? Why?

 _It must be a dream_.

A nightmare, a nightmare of her own, just like her son. Dreaming; she’d wake up to find Jaime in her bed, professing his love, caring for his children.

His children.

Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen, with golden hair and eyes of emerald green, Lannister through and through, more alike to Jaime than Catelyn’s own babes. Why, for how long?

Catelyn has the children brought to her, _her_ children, and it has the feeling of preparing for a war, shutting Cerella and Marla away with the septa, away from Jaime and the Queen, sending Robb to dine with Edmure, Lysa and her little son.

And Catelyn screams. Screams, because everything makes perfect sense, now, everything is perfectly _ordered_ , she doesn’t have to wonder. Does Tywin know? Tyrion, Genna? They can’t. They can’t, otherwise her goodfather would have done _something_. He wouldn’t let his children shame another like this, he wouldn’t let his children doom House Lannister in the eyes of the Seven.

Nobody knows about this, Catelyn is sure; nobody must know. King Robert would act, King Robert would… The man who’d stood by, who’d done nothing after the last Targaryen babes were killed; he would destroy Cersei, he would destroy House Lannister, hurt Jaime and Catelyn, hurt the children, push them out into the Sunset Sea, bring Casterly Rock down. He would, he would. Catelyn fears the man, in this instant, but no more than she fears Jaime, when her husband comes into her chambers. Golden, handsome. She’d loved him, she’d loved him.

_Why the ruckus?_

_I saw you._

And Catelyn says it, over and over, _I saw you I saw you I saw you_ , the bile-fire in her throat coming up, like venom in her mouth, until Jaime crosses the distance between them and she fears he might strike her -- she’s never had such a fear before, never. But instead, he says, coldly: _You did not_.

Robb’s face, Ceri’s nose, Marla’s hair and eyes, Lore’s winsome smile. Robert would destroy House Lannister, the way Maegor had destroyed House Harroway. Does Jaime know this? Does Jaime _understand_ what he’s done? More bile-fire, more obstacles between them, and Catelyn says _I did not_ , and Catelyn says _Cerella must never marry Joffrey_ , and Catelyn says _Why, how could you do this._

 _This isn’t about you_.

It’s not. It doesn’t have to.

*

Tywald is born, the last of her children, because she never touches Jaime again. Tywald is born; Robb goes back to Ashermark and makes a grandmother of Catelyn before she’s ready, fathering a son on Jeyne Westerling. The girl is far below him, but Tywin Lannister would suffer no bastard, and she becomes Catelyn’s gooddaughter, a boy with brown hair and Lannister-green eyes in her arms.

Cerella is promised to Jon Arryn’s nephew and heir, Harry not-Arryn, leaving for the Vale at twelve. Catelyn makes the journey with her, Marla and Loreon, because there’s been talk of betrothing her second daughter to Lord Mooton’s heir, and she’s demanded to meet the boy for herself. She’s never met Harry Hardyng, and she’d never met Jeyne Westerling, before Robb foolishly linked his fate with hers. The Mooton boy is half-decent, and Maidenpool is a wealthy town, but Marla is miserable.

Catelyn ignores it. Catelyn _must_ ignore it. Her family has to be perfect, if they want to survive Cersei and her son, if they want to survive the fourth century.

Lore fosters in Riverrun and shatters his leg in the godswood. He writes to say that some mean Frey lad has dubbed him _Loreon the Lame_ , writes to say that he can never become a Kingsguard, now, but Catelyn is most glad to keep him far away from King’s Landing, away from his cousins.

His cousins.

Cerella becomes Lady of the Vale at fourteen, when they find old Jon Arryn dead in King’s Landing, fallen to his death from a window in his Tower of the Hand. Jaime returns from the city shortly after, and Catelyn doesn’t ask; Catelyn doesn’t want to know. She’s never wanted to know.

She watches over her brood of lions, her auburn hair streaking with grey, and is by every account a most supportive wife to Ser Jaime, the proud father of five golden children.

Only five.

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted a palate cleanser between longer WIPs but, as usual, it got longer than I expected.
> 
> Find me on Twitter! ([x](https://twitter.com/targmother)) ✨


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